


Written Words

by dispatch



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:08:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25157515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dispatch/pseuds/dispatch
Summary: Bacara receives a letter, he isn't sure how to respond
Relationships: CC-1138 | Bacara/CT-7567 | Rex
Comments: 9
Kudos: 77





	Written Words

**Author's Note:**

> Have you ever written something and just went... what is this? Yeah. That

_Bacara. I admit, I have no idea how to write a letter, but I find I am willing to try, just to have a few more words with you. I was told a letter should include the dailies and the how are yous. So, we have recently completed a recent campaign on some desert in the middle of no-where. Fighting in low-g is still just as fun as ever. We almost lost a shiney as he shot up toward atmo, but our Jedi-Commander pulled him back down._

_There was this monument and it was old. Tall and strangely weathered in the low atmosphere - though maybe there was a atmosphere here before and it died as the planet had died. General Skywalker said the monument was meant to direct a soul higher. It had these carved little marks around the base of it. I don’t know what they were for, but it made me think of you somehow._

_I have been doing that a lot lately. At the oddest time, I will see something completely unrelated and I will be reminded of how you take your coffee, or of that little tattoo on your hip. These lasting impressions I have of you, and I wonder what you have of me. Have I left a mark yet?_  
— Rex  
*

Bacara’s alert pinged while he over saw the withdrawal on a combat zone that was still hot. As the last of Nova shred across airspace, Bacara leaned against the LAAT’s seat rest and pulled up the delayed messages. And there were the words directed at him from across a galaxy. Something in his heart, he hadn’t even noticed was off, had settled. Bacara had reread the letter immediately after, then another dozen times that day.

A week had past before he had staked out the corner of the command office and tried to write back. 

_On the third week of our deployment-_

Bacara stopped. His hand hovering over the datapad. This already sounded like a sit-rep. Bacara deleted the one line he had written.

_This past week I have been given the opportunity-_

Now it just sounded curt. Bacara slashed it off the screen. The datapad gave a happy little beep. Bacara dropped his head into his palm. This was harder then Rex had made it seem. How should he even start? He found himself grasping at words that failed to come out. 

“How do you write a non-regulation letter?” Bacara asked the room when he had managed to sit back up. The room, in that case, was Jet as he lounged on the couch, feet on the arm rest while he flipped through reports. Jet had lowered the datapad from where it nearly covered his face, and had eyed him over it cautiously.

“Is this a trick question?” Jet dropped the report he had been reading. “Did Neyo set you up to this?” 

“No.” He debated it for a moment, eying Jet who seemed to realize he had given something away. How could Neyo be involved in this? Bacara watched the other commander. Jet did a good job at hiding it, but something about him said panicky. Embarrassing then; for Jet, and Bacara by proxy. “I don’t want to know,” He decided out loud. Jet looked relieved.

Jet dropped his feet off the couch, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

“What sort of letter?”

Bacara thought again of the the Rex’s note, “Someone wanted to keep in touch with me.” He traced the bottom frame of the datapad, strangely not willing to look up. He felt exposed, like a part of him was laid bare.

Jet huffed, when Bacara dragged his head back up Jet was smiling warmly. He was always able to depend on Jet, Bacara was reminded then.

It took a little digging, but Jet had samples. A pile of datapads scattered around the officer’s desk. For the most part, Bacara suspected them to be romance novels. Maybe this was a hint, of some sort, that Jet knew. Or maybe this is what Jet read in his off time. Bacara poked at one with the stylus one of the third shift officers had left behind. Highly suspect, but serviceable.

 _I received your letter,_ Bacara started. _Hopefully this will successfully reroute to you on our next databurst._

It felt awkward, as though he was talking to the screen. This is Rex, he reminded himself. Staring at the form, he could recall when Rex had smiled at him back at Coruscant on the rare turnover Nova had in the core.

He had been in a mash up of dress pants, but a civilian top that Bacara had snagged at curiously to feel the strange fabric. The lights of ads overhead made his skin glow a soft orange gold, and Rex leaned forward and had smiled that smile that was slowly driving Bacara mad weeks later. “I think I like you, Commander,” Rex had said into the space between them.

_There has been an infinite number of times these past few weeks where I have found myself thinking of you as well._

Later Jet had dragged him to the mess, insisting eating time was not working time. He needed a break, force take him.

At the long table, across from him sat Neyo looking pleased with himself as Jet stared at him balefully. Bacara safely chose to ignore them.

Neyo was halfway through telling them about his assignment for the last tenday; what sounded like a quiet escort mission, but he set it up to play as a heavy action reconnaissance adventure. At some point a squirrel had somehow become a deep cover espionage agent.

One of the mess-hall main doors opened to excited shouts. Bacara turned around in time to watch as trooper Bugs slid into the hall on his back. He was excited, laughing as he tried to scramble up but fell down. His joy did not stop as his foot slid out from under him a second time. He was covered in a shiny slime that did not appear to be helping.

Later, as Bacara watched the troopers that had filled the corridor with grease to make it into a slippery slide do another lap in full kit, he felt for a moment that he could just turn his head and Rex would be there. As if Bacara could just look over and Rex would tilt his head and say a joke about grease and energy. Except he wasn’t there and like a punch to the sternum, Bacara was left reeling.

He understood what Rex said about how so many things reminded him of Bacara. He felt the same way everyday.

 _I miss you,_ Bacara wrote, _and everyday I miss you more._


End file.
